Christine H. Powell Poems

Over in the meadow where the wood thrush sings
There waiting is my true love
My heart seems to have wings.
We meet there every evening
...

A turned up nose
And bright eyes of blue
A pair of cut off jeans
And one untied shoe.
...

Why are my days special
I'm sure that I know
She's the youngest of four daughters
And she is only four years old.
...